always keeping score
by JessicaFay
Summary: "And, try as he might not to, Cato has to admit that the scars Clove left on him were of equal size to the scars he left on Clove." Clato oneshot; to make up for one of the two Project Pull dates I missed.


When Cato and Clove first meet, there is no handshake or greeting or smiling or introductions.

They simply begin to fight, clawing and biting and scratching and snarling.

There's no need to say anthing; they completely understand each other right off the bat.

They are fighters, brutal and bloody and vicious, and fighters like to fight.

x

Their whole relationship, really, is defined by a series of fights and brawls and battles and squalls. Insults and abuses and cuts and bruises.

Constantly shifting their balance of power; always trying to be better than one another.

And Cato is always keeping score.

x

It's early morning, at the training center, and they're trying to lap each other on the track.

Cato is picking up speed. Is about to pass Clove.

"Look over there!" Clove suddenly exclaims, gesturing to the right.

Cato looks. And runs into a wall.

"Dumbass," Clove snickers as she gets far ahead of him. Begrudgingly, Cato admits to himself that Clove is a bit more clever than he is.

Cato 0, Clove 1.

x

It's mid-afternoon, at the training center again, and they're practicing with knives.

Cato is no match for Clove. It takes about ten seconds for her weapon to hit his chest, lodged in with such force that it pierces through his training armor and leaves a gaping wound.

Clove is a lot better with knives than he is.

Cato 0, Clove 2.

x

It's lunchtime, at the academy's cafeteria, and Clove and Cato are filling their trays with food.

Once he's ready to eat, Cato finds a table of people to sit with.

Clove doesn't. Because she isn't charming, isn't funny, isn't friendly, isn't anything close to likable.

Cato is.

Cato 1, Clove 2.

x

It's late afternoon, once more at the training center, and they're tossing spears at targets.

With perfect form, Clove sends her spear flying right into the mannequin's heart.

Less graceful, Cato isn't quite as accurate. His spear misses by at least a yard.

"Nice shot," Clove snorts, her voice dripping in characteristic sarcasm.

"Bitch," Cato says, pushing her into the spear rack.

The weapons fall to the ground with a resounding clang, and some of them even scratch her skin. But she doesn't stop grinning, doesn't even wince.

She's so infuriating. Yet that's what makes her so endearing at the same time.

Cato 1, Clove 3.

x

It's morning, on the track again, and a trainer has just informed Clove that her father has passed away.

"So?" Cato asks, pausing his run to look at her.

"So what?" Clove says, unphased and never stopping.

Cato glares and starts moving again, angry with himself for seeming the least bit sensitive.

Cato 1, Clove 4.

He's falling behind.

x

It's mid-afternoon, at the training center, and they're practicing with swords.

Clove simply does not compare to Cato. He's bigger, and stronger, and has her on the ground in four seconds.

It's a new record.

He decides to give himself two points.

Cato 3, Clove 4.

x

It's late afternoon, once more at the training center—that's where they spend nearly all their time now. Clove has been staring at some new guy's ass all day.

It annoys Cato to no end.

"Are you in love with him or something?" Cato finally asks, irritation lining his voice.

"Maybe." Clove sounds defensive. "It's none of your damn business if I am."

Cato can tell that she definitely has at least a small crush on the other boy.

So Cato befriends him and sets him up with another girl from their class.

"You're a fucking asshole," Clove says later when she finds out, pinning him into the wall—she's very strong for someone so small.

Cato just grabs her face between his hands and kisses her, hard and fast and forceful.

And she kisses right back.

Cato 4, Clove 4.

x

It's late at night, in Clove's dorm. Cato is laying on the floor because Clove refuses to let his "filthy carcass" sit on her bed.

They're talking strategy when, out of nowhere, Cato asks if she feels any emotions anymore.

He immediately bites his tongue to the point of drawing blood. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" Clove asks.

Silence falls.

Then Clove speaks.

"No. But emotions just fuck everything up anyway."

Then they return to discussing archery.

Neither of them get a point tonight.

x

It's late at night, in Cato's dorm this time, when Clove finally allows Cato to fuck her.

It's raw, and painful, and nearly animalistic, and Cato leaves more scars on her that night than he ever has during any of their training fights—bites her and cuts her and bruises her and _hurts _her.

And she does the same to him.

Each makes _damn _sure to leave his mark on the other.

And, try as he might not to, Cato has to admit that the scars Clove left on him were of equal size to the scars he left on Clove.

So he gives each of them a point.

Cato 5, Clove 5.

x

When the 74th annual Hunger Games comes around, they both volunteer, each with the same amount of confidence and cockiness and enthusiasm.

But Cato's cheers from the crowd are a little louder.

Because Cato is charming, and handsome, and makes the audience fall head over heels for him.

Clove is rather plain in comparison. She's always been. That's one of Cato's advantages.

Cato 6, Clove 5.

He's finally taken the lead.

x

On the first day in the arena, Cato kills more tributes.

Cato 7, Clove 5.

x

But then it's Clove who comes up with the idea to employ the boy from District 10 to set up a booby trap around their supply pile.

It's a stroke of genius.

But Cato doesn't admit it.

He just shoves her and says, "Whatever, bitch."

She shoves him right back.

She's always been the smart one. She knows it.

Cato 7, Clove 6.

x

Clove dies mere days later.

It's a quick process; she takes a stone to the head while Cato is off hunting.

He gets there in time to see her body falling to the ground.

Something inside him shifts; something melts and he suddenly doesn't feel very numb anymore.

He runs to Clove, falling the ground beside her and begging her to come back.

He's never _begged _for anything before in his entire life.

But his and Clove's game isn't over. He doesn't want to stop keeping score.

Without her, he has nobody constantly competing with him, nobody constantly pushing him to get better, nobody infuriating him and endearing him all at the same time. Nobody to laugh with, nobody to push around, nobody to constantly fight, and kiss, and fuck, with a near inhumane amount of rawness, and animalistic passion.

He's not ready to lose her.

He _needs _her.

He wants to keep playing.

But she's gone, and he feels horribly horribly empty.

Number than he's ever felt before.

x

He's numb while he kills Thresh; a sword in the heart.

x

He's numb while he runs from the mutant dogs released by the gamemakers; runs to the cornucopia and fights the tributes from District 12.

x

He's numb while he falls the ground and gets attacked by mutts.

x

He's numb while an arrow pierces his neck and his last word is "please."

He resets the score.

Cato 0. Clove 0.


End file.
